


I will follow you

by Fortuna14



Category: Hazbin Hotel (Web Series)
Genre: Asexual Alastor (Hazbin Hotel), Asexual Original Character, Asexual Relationship, F/M, Like Fae Style True Names, POV Alternating, POV Second Person, POV Third Person, Reader Has A Name, Self-Indulgent, True Names, it comes up later, it's complicated okay, technically
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-13
Updated: 2020-07-31
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:35:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 13,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24691627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fortuna14/pseuds/Fortuna14
Summary: You were killed, heck, you were murdered, all because people needed someone to blame. And you went to Heaven, that's fine, that's dandy.  But they don't get it.  You feel like half of your soul is missing, and you want it back.  If that means bending some rules, so be it.  All you want is to be happy again.You're still a good girl.But good is a subjective term and a fickle thing.You've got your morals.But your compass never pointed due north in the first place.And when it all comes down to intentions, that might be your saving grace.Or seal your fate.You got this.
Relationships: Alastor (Hazbin Hotel)/Original Female Character(s), Alastor (Hazbin Hotel)/Reader
Comments: 33
Kudos: 124





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So this is basically something that I came up with had decided to run with. I just had to realize the similarity/duality between Alastor and Mordecai Heller. I have a type when it comes to faves, I swear.  
> I don't know how long it's going to be but I have ideas. Dangerous, I know.

When you had been alive you had been a librarian, it had made you happy. Your husband had been a radio entertainer, he also made you happy. Thinking back, you had been very happy, even if you weren't in love, even if neither of you were in love, you did care for him dearly and believed that he had felt the same towards you. 

When he died you felt it. A pain in your chest like nothing you'd ever felt. And it was after that you just sort of felt numb. The light tug on your soul that always told you where he was, was gone. It was as if you lost a part of yourself.

You felt nothing when you heard if what he'd done. You knew logically you should feel something, it was murder after all, supposed cannibalism. But you felt nothing. 

There were rumors going around that you obviously had to have known, that you must have been an accomplice. It was those rumors that sealed your fate. Too many families of the victims believed it, and they would do the same thing to you as your husband did to their loved ones. You didn't care, your life had already lost meaning.

* * *

Upon your death you found yourself in Heaven. There were no pearly Gates, you don't think at least. The next thing you knew after dying was waking up in what was essentially a hospital. And you managed to work yourself into a panic attack over the first emotions you'd felt since his dead. 

You would later learn that they had had to sedate you. That is was as rare for the residence of Heaven to develop powers just as it was for the residence of Hell to, it all depended on the strength of the person's soul. Your powers were apparently fairly strong as your panic attack cause them to wreak havoc around the hospital room. 

The nurse in charge of you was kind, sympathetic to what you had gone though. Explaining where you were and that soon you would be assigned a case worker, lack of a better term. To help you get settled. 

* * *

You managed to get a position at the one and only library Heaven had to offer. It was familiar, and that was what you had told your case worker when asked, it wasn't a lie, you didn't lie. But in truth you had an alternative reason, all the same. You wanted answers. And what better place to find answers than the biggest library in existence.

It would take years, decades, maybe even centuries, to find what you were looking for, but you were always a stubborn person. 

* * *

It'd been a couple decades at this point. You had read so many books and had learned more about your powers. You could create, summon?, Any Book you had read previously, be it in life or death, it was a fairly handy skill. Your previously skilled memory was better. And so many other minute skills that never meant much to you in the long run.

You were sitting at the reception desk towards the front of the library, reading though another book about souls. This was one that focused on reincarnation, specifically oddities that could occur during the reincarnation process.

You flip a page and glance at the chapter title, "Soul Bonds", and continue reading down the page. 

"Typically found in twins and the like, a natural soul bond is a rare occurrence. A result of a soul splitting itself into multiple parties. Usually a pair, though there has been record of trios and quintets. Symptoms of a soul bond are fairly consistent, perpetual awareness of the other, unwillingness to be apart for extending periods of time, and, in the cases of a powerful soul, the ability to convey thoughts and feeling, are the most common.

"As life persists the, strength of such bonds tend to fade as the individuality of the individuals increases, allowing for the individuals in question to be reincarnated without issue, when the time comes.

"In cases where soul bond has not faded, it is always best to delay the reincarnation process. As it does not allow for the blank slate that is ideal. 

"The chance of remembering their previous life, or even lives, increases exponentially. And has resulted in the premature deaths of many of the individuals in question."

You flip another page, the words, created soul bonds, stairs back at you and bold print.

"There are rituals used to bond souls together, some have become forbidden for one reason or another, many of which have been lost to time. Like natural bonds, these usually fade in death, and by the time the individuals are available for reincarnation the bond has faded. 

"There has been at least one case to date, of bonds persisting once on the mortal, despite seemingly having faded. No one is quite sure what had caused this but it has been noted as something extremely dangerous."

You felt your heart stutter as you reread the information in the book in front of you. This could be what you had been looking for. Conjuring a bookmark, you placed the book in your desk drawer, put the "be back in 5 minutes" sign on the desk and headed to the section of the library that very few people have access to. If anywhere was going to have books solely on soul bonds and rituals it would be there. 

* * *

You found what you wanted. You think you so, at least. An unsure look made its way into your face, the only way to know for sure would to be to dredge up memories from a previous life, and you were hesitant. There were only so many bonding rituals, but you think you'd found whatever had bound you and your husband in a previous life. It was forbidden, now, you weren't sure why, but all the side effects seemed to fit with your own experiences. 

You curled tightly into a ball. The runes and arrays you had put on your bedroom walls blocking out the world. 

You were a good girl. You tell yourself, feeling choked by anxiety. You only hid this because you knew they wouldn't understand. Anyone that knew your story looked at you with pity, thinking you another victim of your monster of a husband. They didn't get it. You weren't, you were sure of it. He wasn't a monster, well he was, but he wasn't. 

But you couldn't say that. You did, once upon a time. And look were it got you, you'd been in Heaven for half a century at this point and you were still attending counseling. It made sense at first anyone with a traumatic death had to for the first few months or years, depending on the person but that hadn't even been on your emotional radar in years. 

You just . . . You missed him. You could live without him, but you still missed him. Was that so wrong? 

Why was it like this? You wanted to cry. Heck, you were crying. 

Sometimes you just wanted to die. Too bad you were already dead. 

* * *

You filled though another book. This one on the reincarnation process, itself. It had been hidden in the restricted section of the library along with a few on the redemption and damnation processes. You were the only one who ever went back there, the runes carved into the doorframe keeping track of who came and went, and recording it in a book. The runes also kept anyone from removing books, and if you were right, judged the intention of anyone who entered. 

It may have been Heaven but that didn't mean much, there were still people with dark intentions. You sometimes wondered what it considered your own intentions but not much came of that train of thought. 

The books on redemption were interesting but not of much help, the one on damnation could be useful, if you actually decided to go through with the reckless plan that was forming in your head.

* * *

You checked over the ritual, "In this life and the next, as in the last." Those were the bindings words. Likely why the ritual was forbidden, if you thought about it. It was a promise, that though death, reincarnation or anything else. You would be together. You wonder if your past selves knew what you were getting into.

Those words were becoming a mantra in your head. You knew he went to hell, you knew. And if you wanted to see him again you had limited choices. The easiest option wasn't easy at all, but you'd do it. You'd be reincarnated, and you'd go to Hell. 

You honestly hoped you were right. Hope this wasn't all just wishful thinking on your part. You felt sick. The doubts claiming your mind, again. 

Why were you like this?

* * *

There was and wasn't a black market in Heaven. It was complicated, but you had managed to get want you needed to make tattoo ink that your soul would retain. It was a perk that your very being in the afterlife represented your soul. 

Runic arrays had become a specialty, and you were going to ink one into your very being, because none of the books spoke of a way to ensure memories, quite the opposite actually. So you would store your memories in this way. 

If all went well you would keep your memories and maybe you powers. You were fully prepared to lose the latter, however. You got this.

* * *

You flicked your wrist, a copy of "A Guide to Damnation" appeared in your hand, it contained anything and everything that could cause someone to go to Hell without a second look. You needed to find something that you could stomach doing once you were reincarnated. Preferably something that didn't clash too horribly with your morals compass. 

It was about half way through the book that you found something you could work with. A smirk worked its way on to your face, and had you looked in the mirror you would have laughed, it was incredibly reminiscent of your husband's mischievous one. 

It was time to get this plan in motion.

* * *

It was harder than you had expected, qualifying for reincarnation. Harder still, when you were trying to ensure that you would regain you memories. But you had done it. A couple more decades. What was a couple more decades at this point? You just hoped he would be happy to see you, you hoped he was even still alive, you don't know what you would do it he wasn't. 

You didn't want to think about that. 

* * *

It was August 1996, even if in the grand scheme of things that didn't mean much to the residence of Hell. There was still over 2 months until the next extermination.

A lady of standing, as calling her anything less would be nothing short of an insult, prepares tea for herself and her companion, a gentleman clad in a red pinstripe suit. It was a rare blend, that she had been wanting to try for quite some time, and it had been a while since her companion had last visited.

She had missed their semi regular get-togethers, though she wouldn't outright state such a thing. 

They jumped from topic to topic, steering clear of certain landmines, before falling into a comfortable silence, she, herself nibbling on a pastry while her companion sipped at his tea. 

There was a second of unbidden horror, that flooded the man, before the teacup fell from his hand, clattering onto the table, spilling what was left of the tea.

The woman's attention snapped back to her companion at the sound.

His permanent smile was twisted into something painful, his eyes wide, hand grasping at his chest.

"Alastor?"

He didn't hear anything else as he collapsed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you have advice for tags let me know please?
> 
> Also I'm already working on chapter 3 so, hopefully, this one doesn't end up abandoned like most of my stuff. I am sorry about that, by the by.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You get reincarnated, and manage to make your way to Hell in the most ironic manner you can think of.
> 
> You also make a pseudo deal with a demon, but you haven't agreed to anything yet.

You were maybe 5 or 6 when you started having dreams. It's when you met not-you. Well she says she's you but she's not, yet she is. She disappears as the years go on, as the memories settle and you no longer need someone to help you keep the memories from then separated from the memories of now. You've become your own person, but there is so much overlay between the two of you. You still essentially live in the library, but you've hobbies you enjoy outside of books, swing still something you love with all your heart. You get called an old soul more often than not, and really? If only they knew.

* * *

You're 23 going on 24, when everything is fully settled, your memories of your past life and your time in Heaven are just as clear as the memories you have of this life. You’re scared though, about going on to the next step of the plan. You're a good girl, but this will give you a one way ticket to Hell. The world is in discord and you kind of just want to get it over with so you no longer have to deal with it.

You heave a breath, and grab what you need. You're scared, anxious, terrified that this will all be for naught, but you can do this. After all bravery is acting in spite of fear. 

* * *

This was probably the least serious offence to your sensibilities that granted you a one way ticket to Hell. You honestly didn't understand why it was such an offence. It was a ritual, forgotten to time, and obviously forbidden. It didn't really do anything though. Logically you couldn't understand why it was so bad, but your gut told you it was.

You filled a bowl with distilled water, and set it in the middle of the array you had made. A few drops of blood and patience that's all you had to do.

There was soul searching and then there was this. You would essentially be looking into the history of your own soul, and okay, you could kind of get why some might disprove, but still.

You got this.

You watched as the blood mixed with the water, like ink in a glass. The color shifts as does the blood taking on images that shift from one to the next, sharing a story in pictographs, a story you know, it’s on the tip of your tongue, you could tell it if you wanted, it's right there. 

You blink, you feel like you missed something, like when you're in the middle of a conversation and then suddenly your mind goes blank and you can't remember a word you just said.

You look back at the bowl. The images are gone as is the water, all that's left is your blood on the bottom, spelling out a word that makes your soul ache.

* * *

You contemplated suicide. You didn't want to, not really, it was "a permanent solution to a temporary problem", as your dad put it. You loved your parents, you did, and you couldn't ask for a better pair, you didn't want to leave them. But in the end you didn't really have a choice.

Your parent house was a couple acres on a creak with woods beyond it. It was one of those days where your anxiety was getting hard to manage, so you decided to go meander the woods, canvas backpack, with some snacks, and 6' wooden dowel. 

You spun the rod, finding comfort in the consistent momentum that is provided, and made your way towards the clearing that was maybe a 20 minute walk into the woods. 

The clear was calm, as always and you slide down against one of the trees at the edge and pull Good Omens out of your backpack, you manage to get through a chapter and a half before the anxiety induced adrenaline rush wears off and you start to nod off. 

You woke suddenly, only to be assaulted by pain, your chest hurt, really hurt, and it felt like all the energy was zapped out of you. You see a deer, that had apparently come up to you while asleep, dart off and you would have laughed if you had the energy, the irony was too much. 

* * *

You’re falling. That's the first thing you notice. The impact happens not a second later. And, ow.

You blink, and sit up, your chest still hurts and looking down you can see where the bullet had gone in, you can see the blood, but there is no actually bullet hole. Okay, that's one less thing to worry about. You look up at the sky, a giant pentagram resides there. This is Hell. You can feel the anxiety and panic start to well up in your chest. 

You died. You hadn't wanted to die yet. Mom and dad were going to be mad. Fuck, just fuck. 

As your mind and emotions spiraled, so did your magic. The wind around you picking up speed, grabbing the debris in its path and drawing the attention of the demons nearby. 

Rosie's Emporium, she was never going to get tired of that, it was such a pity that Franklin had to die in the extermination in October. She thought with a smirk. It was somewhat unfortunate that there no one in at the moment, but alas, that was the way of business. 

There was a loud crack, which caused Rosie to glare at the window. Who was throwing things at her shop!?

Swiftly she made her way over to the door, yanking it open and taking in the sight in the street. There was what looked like a hurricane of debris, slowly but steadily growing larger as the seconds ticked by.

Rosie's jaw almost dropped as she put together the pieces of what she was seeing. Some poor sinner's magic was going out of control, and judging by the fact that this was happening in the middle of the street outside of her shop she was willing to bet is was a newly fallen sinner, at that. After all she didn't think anyone outside of another overlord would be stupid enough to start doing damage in her own backyard.

The question remained, what was she going to do about it? The Last time a sinner fell with this much innate power was probably Alastor, and just look at what he became. Hmm? Perhaps she could turn the child into an underling, or she could just kill them, that was always an option. 

The sound of someone choking on air, drew her attention back to the child. She couldn't make out what were through the mini tornado, and really it was irreverent.

* * *

It wasn't long before Rosie shut down the child's magic, shocking them out of their previous panic, and brought them into the emporium. Flipping over the closed sign, and leading the young girl up the stairs. 

"Would you care for tea, child?" She was going to make herself some, and it was only polite to offer, after all.

The girl looked up shyly and gently tugged on some strands of her dark blood red hair. "Yes, please. Thank you, ma'am."

At least the girl had manners. So many of the young that end up in Hell lack them now a days. 

"Take a seat, dear, we are going to have a conversation." Rosie informed, before returning to the tea tray, and adding tea to the tea pot, before adding the hot water. "Tell me, child, do you know where you are?"

"Hell, ma'am." She answered, without hesitance. This drew Rosie's attention. 

"And how did you reach that conclusion?" Rosie asks, because denial, is probably one of the most common reaction to arriving in Hell.

"It's where I was aiming for, I just wasn't ready to be hear so soon." She explains, mumbling the last part.

"Don't mumble." Rosie chastises lightly, placing the tray in the center of the table pouring two cups, "Cream or sugar?"

"Neither, thank you." The girl answers accepting the cup but not drinking until, Rosie drinks some of hers.

Smart girl, Rosie thinks with a smirk.

"Ma'am?" The girl asks after a second.

"Yes, dear?" 

"Is this Orange Pekoe?" Rosie starts, most don't recognize teas on taste.

"It is, you like it, I take?" It wasn’t her favorite, but Alastor had been over the other day, and it was the only tea he seemed to like, so she still had it out.

"My husband was fond of it." The girl explained with a soft smile. "Now I consider myself a tea snob, but he was on a whole other level."

Rosie smiled. "I know someone like that." Placing her cup down, and moving the conversation back on track. "Now, you said that you wanted to come to Hell, dear?"

"I don't mean to be rude, and I do appreciate your hospitality, but that is a rather personal thing to tell someone I have only just met." 

"A fair point. It's not necessarily important at the moment, I suppose." Rosie mussed, letting the behavior slight this once.

"And while I do appreciate your hospitality, as I said, I'm assuming you are not doing this out of the kindness of your heart."

"Smart, child." Rosie hums. "I haven't seen a recently fallen sinner, with as much raw power as you seem to possess in almost a century, even if yours is uncontrolled at the moment."

"What happened to them?"

"He became one of the most feared Overloads in Hell." Rosie explained with a smirk. "You could become one also one day, but you would need help of course."

"Are you . . . suggesting a mentorship?" The girl asks, eyeing Rosie suspiciously. "What would you get out of this?"

"Taking a protégé, who how the potential to match Alastor for raw power, it's all about legacy and power, child." Rosie explained, not missing the way the girl stiffened at Alastor's name.

"I'm assuming I don't have much of a say on the matter?" She says softly, pulling on her hair again. 

"Of course you do, dear." Rosie says carefully, something about the child pulling at her heart strings. "I wouldn't force you to be my protégé, that would be a recipe for disaster."

There was silence as the two went back to their tea.

"Inquiry?" The young lady asks suddenly.

"Yes, dear?" Rosie responds, noticing that the girl is shaking. 

"This . . . this Alastor, are you . . . on good terms?" She gets out, the anxiety at the question fairly oblivious.

"I should think, considering we have tea together, fairly regularly." Rosie admits easily enough. This seems to calm the girl enough for her to ask another question.

"He didn't fall in 1933, did he?" Rosie thinks for a second, looking at the girl suspiciously.

"That's an odd thing for you to know." Rosie says, answering but not answering the question. 

"He did, then." She says softly to herself, fists clenched in front of her chest and she tries to calm her breathing. It doesn't work as panic and anxiety, give way to tears.

Rosie sits there watching the girl as she works though whatever it is going through her head. So long as her magic doesn't start wreaking havoc on the room Rosie was content to let her be. Though she does make a mental note to work on emotional control should she mentor the girl, which she was planning on doing, it's not like the girl had many choices. She'd give her a few days though, the dear did just die after all.

* * *

You feel waterlogged from crying. And you feel emotionally numb now too. You're not even entirely sure what had set you off. You think that the Alastor that Rosie, presumably, considering the name on the sign, mentioned is your Alastor. How many Alastors died in 1933, though? Too many probably, you couldn't possibly be lucky enough to have fond a lead to him already, could you have? No you couldn't, of course not. You shouldn't get your hopes up. 

"I'm sorry about that." You tell your host, she’s looking at you like you're a puzzle again.

"It's perfectly alright, dear. It's been a long day for you, dying can take a lot out of a person."

"Yeah." You mumble, slightly surprised, she doesn't correct you about mumbling again. 

You sip at your now cold tea. "I know I'm in no position to make demands." You start. "But do you think I could meet Alastor before I give you my answer?"

You have no cards to play, not really, just the few you want to keep close to your chest, and you are essentially at this woman's mercy. And as nice as she has been so far she has to be in Hell for a reason. You know you have no real choice but to accept her offer but if you can get this out of it, confirm that this Alastor isn't yours, it'd be a weight off your shoulders. You can't help but hope it is him though. 

"Alright," Rosie agrees, easily enough. "But answer something for me first. Why do you want to meet him?"

You fist your hands in your jeans. "I need to confirm something."

"You're not some sort of . . . fan of his, are you?" Suspicion evident in her voice. 

You laugh, "If he's who I think he is, then no." Honestly you are probably the farthest thing from a fan of his work, sure you wrote your research paper for Criminal Psychology, on his actions, but you didn't . . . You weren't a fanatic.

"Let's get you changed then. You look like death." Rosie smirks at her own joke.

"I don't have money." You remind, pointing out the obvious.

"Then, you will just have to work for me, whether you decide to be my protégé or not, to pay be back." She tells you and okay, that’s . . . you're pretty sure you don't have a choice.

"Yes, ma'am."

"Also, dear, we never did proper introductions. You may call me Miss Rosie, and what should I call you dear?

"Millie." You respond without a second though.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Right, so Rosie wasn't supposed to show up yet. But she kinda did. 
> 
> Millie was supposed to follow the tugging in her chest to the hotel, but that didn't happen. 
> 
> Her having a panic attack and losing control of her powers was not supposed to happen but, that the same thing happened last time she died . . . So. 
> 
> Sometimes you don't always have control over the characters, ya know?
> 
> (I am nervous to post the next chapter, because oocness.)


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You go to the Hazbin Hotel, fall into old habits and stir up some trouble.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, next chapter is done so this chapter is up.

Charlie opened the door with enthusiasm, hoping, praying that behind it held some poor sinner looking for redemption. She was slightly out to find Miss Rosie, but didn't let it show too much, especially as she noticed the other woman standing behind Miss Rosie. 

"Hey, Miss Rosie!" Charlie greeted, voice carrying. "Can we help you with something?"

"Possibly, dear. Is Alastor here?" Miss Rosie asked, and Charlie had kinda assumed that's who she was here for. She didn't like it when Al did business at the hotel. But honestly, she wasn't going to stop the two Overlords, she did have some self-preservation, after all. 

"He's with Husker at the bar." Charlie answers turning towards the newcomer when she whispers, "Husker" with wide eyes. "Hey, I'm Charlie, what's your name?"

The girl’s eyes snap to Charlies, they are a vibrant shade of blue, she notices. "Millie." She says, quietly, looking all shy and adorable. Charlie just wanted to wrap her up in a blanket.

"Well, Millie, welcome to the Hap- Hazbin Hotel." Charlie says, before going in on a spiel about the purpose of the hotel and what she hope to accomplish. 

* * *

Annoying Husker was something that would never get old, Alastor was sure of. 

"Hey, Miss Rosie!" He hears Charlie from the entry hall. Husker hears it too if his grabbing a bottle of wine was any indication. 

Both watch the door way, not a minute later Rosie walks though the arch and Alastor gets up to greet her. 

"My dear, it is a pleasure to see you, as always. To what do we owe the surprise?" Alastor says, leading Rosie to the bar and assisting her on to the stool.

"Thank you, Husker." She says, accepting the glass of wine and turning back to Alastor. "I have a, hopefully, future protégé who wanted to meet you." She glances over to where Charlie is dragging a young woman around, rambling about the hotel, its goals and so forth.

"Oh?" Alastor questions, that was odd, all of it, that Rosie, of all people, wanting to take a protégé, that the person in question wanted to meet him, and that Rosie even agreed to it. "And why might that be?"

"I haven't the slightest." Rosie tells him sipping her wine. Alastor just rises an eyebrow at her. Setting down her wine she starts ticking off fingers. "She tensed up as soon I said your name. She asked, specifically if you died in 1933. Managed to have an emotional meltdown when I more or less confirmed it. Then asks to me if she could meet you before accepting or denying my proposition. It's a bit suspect, wouldn't you agree?"

"Any chance she's not some creepy fan of his work as a human?" Husker asks, injecting himself into the conversation.

"I inquired, she burst out laughing." Rosie seemed amused. Glancing at Alastor she see him rubbing at his chest. "Are you alright?"

"He's been doing that the past few hours." Husker tells her, much to Alastor's annoyance. 

"Once, it happened once and that was decades ago." Alastor defends, it didn't even hurt, it just felt weird, like something was tugging, and he wanted it to stop.

"And we still don't know what brought it on.” Rosie argued, still concerned over what happened, she never even gave him grief over wreaking her table cloth, and cracking her tea cup, if that didn't demonstrate her concern she wasn't sure what would. 

"I'm fine." He insists, before proceeding to ignore them both. 

He decides to observe this "potential future protégé" of Rosie's. She's talking with Charlie and Vaggie at the moment, well seems more like she's getting lectured by Vaggie and princess is trying to control her girlfriend. 

"Is that one of your dresses?" Alastor asked taking note that the dress looks like something he had seen in the emporium. It was . . . Nice, he supposed. Looked like some sort of bastardisation of the style Rosie wore and modern styles. He honestly didn't see the appeal.

"I couldn't let her come here in what she was wearing, they were obviously the clothes she died in." Rosie answered side eyeing him. "Not to mention the mess from when her powers went haywire."

"Haywire?" Most demons, had abilities, yes but not enough for them to go 'haywire'.

Rosie hums. "I don't think I've seen that much potential for raw power in a long time, practically a century." She gives him a pointed look. 

"So that's why you want to train her." Alastor says, some of the pieces clicking into place. "Sounds interesting."

"Don't even think about it." Rosie comments idly. "I saw her first and you don't have the patience for teaching."

She wasn't wrong.

* * *

You tuned out Vaggie about five sentences into her . . . Lecture. Charlie seemed to accept that you weren't here to be redeemed. And you really weren't, you spent enough time in Heaven, thanks.

Your eyes slide over to where Rosie was, where Alastor was, where Husker was too. If the names weren't enough of a hint, the pull in your chest confirmed it. It was Al, your Al, but was he really anymore. It'd been almost a century, he could have found someone new, he could have . . . 

"In this life and the next." You mutter, trying get your nerves back under control.

"You say something, toots?" A spider demon, that had apparently taken up residence next to you on the couch asks, taking a popsicle out of his mouth to do so.

"Um . . .” You say before shutting you mouth, place holders are a bad habit. "Nothing. Where did Charlie and . . . The other girl go?" You ask him, noticing that the two had disappeared while you were zoned out.

The spider hummed something non-committal. Okay that's fine. Standing up you straighten the dress Rosie had basically forced you to wear. It was cute, you admit this, not exactly your style but cute.

You go up to the bar, ignoring Rosie and Husker, which is rude, you know this, but you don't want to lose your nerve. This could go bad, you shouldn't do this. You haven't know him in almost a century. Did you ever really know him actually? He hide a large portion of who he was from you. Did Husker know? You fight the urge to look at him. It didn't matter. Al had lied to you, hid from you, how dare he. How dare he. 

You felt your ire grow, drowning out the anxiety, and leaving impulse behind. 

You got this. 

"Alastor Zacarias Hebert!" You enunciate, voice annoyed as you let all your anger flow into your words, it draws the eyes to you, but it wasn't as if they weren't there already. You keep your eyes solely on your target, and words leave your lips as easily as they ever had. "Give me one good reason I shouldn't sock you, you popinjay." 

The room is deafeningly silent for a split second.

"Mildred?" He asks, smile dropping and a look of pure shock taking over his features. You smirk, darkly. 

* * *

Charlie and Vaggie come back into the main room to find Millie standing in front of Alastor, a smirk on her face, while Alastor's perpetual smile was gone and his eyes were wide, and he looked like he just got the shock of his afterlife.

"So tell me, darling." Millie practically purrs. "One good reason."

Alastor blinks a couple, trying to regain control. His smile returns to his face, but it's different, it's full of mischief and dark amusement but not the cruel kind they were used to.

"But, my love." Alastor purrs back, and Angel chokes on his popsicle. "I have so many good reasons."

Husker has his head in his hand, like he's exasperated and embarrassed. Rosie seems bemused, having never seen Alastor like this. While the girls feel like they walked into the twilight zone. 

"I'm sure you do." Millie simpers, angling her body in a way that she invades his personal space, but is specifically not touching him. "But I only asked for one."

Alastor let out a hum, gently taking her head with a gloved hand. "How's this?" He asks softly, pressing a chase kiss to her lips. 

* * *

As soon as skin met skin, you feel something in your chest give out, you'd later realize it was likely your soul recalibrating. After almost a century of functioning with only half emotional capacity it feels like a dam has been opened. And you can't help the tears that keep flowing, as you fist your hands in to Al's suit jacket. It was too much. You wanted to die. Why were you already dead? Make it stop.

* * *

The world around them sort of faded out as he spoke and bantered and just was, with his wife. He trusted Husker, he was essentially family, if he was honest, and Rosie, as she had had more than ample opportunity to end him and had never taken such an action. So he was comfortable enough to fall back into comfortable old banter. The rest of the room took on a fuzzy edge as it fades to the back of his awareness.

She always got like this when she was annoyed with him but would rather forget about it if he was willing to make it up to her, in some manner.

Even after all these years it was habit to play along, after all she never asked for anything he wasn't willing to give. They both knew what lines not cross.

Alastor was both equal parts, surprised and not that he actually kissed her. He wasn't the type of person who did such things, in what was essentially public. But at the same time he knew it was something she would appreciate. 

He felt as if something in his chest snapped and the annoying tugging that had been persisting, faded away to the background. Leaving he, himself, feeling oddly drained, emotionally.

Looking back towards Mildred, he wiped some of the tears away from her face. The tears were flowing freely from her eyes as she clung to him and he pulled her up into his lap. She just continued to curse him out, gripping him tighter all the while.

Could she have only just died? No, he had been dead for almost 90 years at this point, meaning she would have had to have been at least 110. It didn't make sense. But later, that was for later.

He raked his fingers through the now blood red locks, feeling a pang of regret that they were longer the rich chestnut brown. But he had always adored the color of blood.

He sighed, she seemed to be in the midst of one of her episodes. And dying was probably exasperating the issue. Not something he had missed dealing with. He much preferred how she was not 5 minutes ago. So full of fire. He would probably be subject to her ire on and off for weeks if not months if she had been holding it in for the better part of a century. A smirk quirked his lips. That would be fun. She had always been fun to rile up.

* * *

It was interesting to see Alastor act in a way so unlike his typical self. Rosie couldn't wait to pick on him about it, but now was obviously not the time Millie, Mildred, was crying into Alastor's chest, calling him names she was sure anyone else would be dead for, and he was combing through her hair.

Looking to Husker he gestures his head towards the other and she sighs. She didn't sign up for this but what sort of friend would she didn't run damage control.

The princess and her girlfriend look frozen in place and it's easy enough for Rosie to grab both of them by the shoulders and lead them into the dining room, leaving the spider to Husker. 

"The fuck did I just witness?" Aforementioned spider comments as soon as the door is closed, apparently having enough decorum for that. 

"That is a good question." Vagatha agrees, looking kind of disturbed. 

"I thought it was kind of sweet." The princess says, throwing in her 2cents. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Right so next chapter, Husker is going to be answering some questions. So if you have questions, speak and be heard and I'll do some editing and see if I can work them in. 
> 
> I remember reading a head canon (?) about how Alastor and Husker knew each other while they were alive, and I just had to. I like the idea that getting Alastor to do anything is kind of like herding cats, so Husker and Millie have this arrangement where they try, unsuccessfully mind you, to keep Al out of trouble. Hilarity ensues. 
> 
> So Millie isn't always as emotionally volatile as she's acting right now, but there is a reason for it, not to mention the fact that she just died and happened to be in a bad phase of anxiety, at the time, and that half of both hers and Alastor's emotional range was unstable due to dying and being separated for nearly a century. Her actual personality will make an appearance soon enough, once she's had time to process and deal, not to mention become more comfortable around people. Right now Husker and Alastor are the only ones who have any idea what they are dealing with, and I find it hilarious. 
> 
> And Yes, I gave Alastor a middle and last name. deal with it. If you want to look up the meanings of the names, I feel like you'll appreciate the Irony I was going for. It should mean something like the Avenging Army which God recalled. which has additional irony which will become apparent much later on.
> 
> Thank you for reading and I appreciate your support.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Husker does damage control. You take a nap. There is gossip and you tell Al about how you ended up in Hell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hit 2,000 words of text so here is the next chapter. (Even if most of that is not for the next chapter. 'Cause I'm writing stuff for who knows how many chapters in the future rather than the next one. Oops? I have a thing for magic theory okay.)
> 
> Anyway, so, opinion time?
> 
> Do people think I should *waves hand as she tries to think of the words* remove identifying features (?) For lack of a better explanation? I am not fond of the fics that use "your hair color" or "your eye color" or whatever but I could always go back and make changes to make things more open-ended.
> 
> I personally just find second person more . . . Drawing than first. "You" having a stronger pull them "I".

Husker groans his head in his hands again, knowing that this was going to mostly fall on his head to deal with, sometimes he fucking hated Al. "Alright, Listen." He starts, making sure he has their attention. "What we discuss here stays between us. You blab about this, and Alastor will kill you, not to mention what Millie will do." Husker shivered slightly at the thought, Millie wasn't a sadistic person by any stretch, but she knew how to make you feel an inch tall, and that was sometimes worse than whatever Alastor deemed an appropriate response.

"What the fuck was that?" Angel reiterates, gesturing to the door behind him and, subsequently, the two in the other room.

"That was their weird ass courting ritual, which I had thought I'd seen the end off." He really, really had. Millie had died before he had, less than a year after Alastor. He heard what happened. He had assumed she'd gone to Heaven, which brought up the question of how the fuck she was here.

"Is Millie okay?" Charlie asks glancing towards the door. Even after the, whatever the fuck that was, her option of the girl really hadn't changed. She seemed sweet. Charlie was a bit concerned over the fact that she broke down crying, however. 

"She's fine, was probably having an episode before she was thrown down here and that's not helping, but I would suggest not separating those two right now." Husker explained, stiffening a bit abit as he remembered how the girl had been when her mom died, he had stayed with them for a few months to help deal with the fall out. He had known there was a darkness in her soul, there had to have been to be able to put up with Alastor as well as she did, but those few months, were . . . illuminating, to say the least.

"Wait." Vaggie said, mind catching on something. "What do you mean courting ritual?"

"They're married." Husker deadpanned, like he thought that was obvious. The two might insist they weren't in love, but he wasn't stupid, they were probably one of the most romantic couples he had had the displeasure of witnessing, in life and death.

"What!" All the residence of the room shout, with the exception of Rosie, who had already put the pieces together.

Husker just raised an eyebrow at the bunch. "You heard me."

* * *

Alastor looked down at the, now sleeping, figure in his lap. This was not how he had expected his day to go, not in the slightest.

Heaving a sigh, he gets up, sleeping girl in tow, and starts heading up the stair. It's not long before they reach the door to the room he had commandeered for his own use. A bit of his own magic and the door opened. It was a practical space. A desk, a comfortable couch, and a phonograph in the corner. He sets Mildred down on the couch, conjuring a blanket, before taking a seat behind the desk.

He hadn't thought much about his wife in years, decades, if he was honest. He had come to terms that she likely hated him, if not for his actions, then for being responsible for her own death. And he had been, even if Husker told him otherwise. Had he not been killed and his actions subsequently found out, it wouldn't have happened. He didn't regret his actions though, he would do it again, if given the choice. He'd just be sure not to get killed and therefore, caught. 

It had been irrelevant though, he was dead, as was she, not even a year later. He was in Hell, and he would have bet his soul that she was in Heaven, and he wasn't someone to engage in a bet that was not in his favor.

Did she, dare he think it, forsake Heaven? He hadn't the slightest idea of how Heaven operated, but he doubted it could be that simple. 

Glancing back at his wife, Alastor let out a sigh. Any answers were going to have to wait until she woke up, and most of his plans would now need to be adjusted. That might have been what annoyed him most about this new development. 

Their vows may have been "until death do you part" but something was telling him he promised so much more than that. The same thing that had told him that there hadn't been a need to hide his inclinations. He was more willing to listen to it this time 

He honestly didn't realize he had missed her presence as much as he apparently had. Emotions that had been dormant for the better part of a century were resurfacing, and Alastor wasn't actually sure how he felt about this development. He wasn't going to let her change him though, she would just have to come to terms that this was how he was now.

* * *

"Husker." Rosie prompts once the rest have left the room, the conversation over when he refused to answer anymore of the nosy questions, He had a fair idea of what information not to give out after all.

"Yeah?" He turns to her. 

"When did she die?" Husker flinched, that was not something you asked, but yeah something wasn't adding up and it seemed like Rosie had picked up on it as well.

"'34. Supposedly." He admits, voice low, as to not be overheard.

Rosie just hummed in acknowledgment, and the 2 shared a look. She was good a reading people, and Millie, for all that she was acting like an open book, was strangely hard to get a proper read on. She didn't quite know what to think on the topic. 

Rosie still wanted to take the girl under her wing, the question was whether Alastor would allow it. She was well aware of how possessive he could be over, that which he considered his. And if he didn't feel that way regarding his wife, of all people, she'd eat her hat.

* * *

"I feel like I'm in the Twilight zone." Vaggie admits to Charlie and Angel, as she breaks her own rule and goes behind the bar counter, having noted that Alastor and Millie were gone the moment they left the dining room. If she was going to process this she needed a drink.

"What happened to sobriety?" Angel asks, cheekily.

"Shut it! Don't tell me you don't want to do the same thing."

"Fair enough." He tells her before joining her behind the counter and mixing drinks for the 3 of them.

"I still think it was sweet." Charlie pipes up, it was different but kind of similar to how her parents flirted with each other, if she thought about it. And she thought that, if nothing else proved that Alastor wasn't just a cannibalistic serial killer. Oh he definitely was one but that surely wasn't all there was. 

"That's nice, Hun." Vaggie says dismissively. "But please, don't think that this changes anything. He's still dangerous and I'm willing to bet you she's just as bad."

"But she seems so sweet." She did, she had even offered Charlie some ideas that, to be honest, sounded kinda promising, when it came to rehabilitation of sinners.

"Hun, she is Alastor's wife." Vaggie repeats, stressing the last word. "What sort of psycho would marry a bastard like him?"

"You're letting your opinion of Alastor cloud your judgement." Charlie persisted.

Vaggie sighed, she and Charlie had more or less agreed to disagree on the topic of Alastor, there was the shared acknowledgment that he was dangerous, but otherwise opinions varied. This was only going to add to that chasm. 

"So, I can't believe I'm going to say this." Angel takes a big swig of his drink. "But I actually agree with Vaggie."

"Okay I'm definitely in the Twilight zone. Are you sick?" Vaggie asks placing her hand on his forehead to test his temperature.

"I'm fine." Angel snaps, slapping the hand away. "I'm just saying, the strawberry pimp can't have been too much different in life than he is now, and while I have no shame in admitting that he is easy on the eyes, his personality leaves a lot to be desired."

* * *

You slept, you dreamed. 

You feel your body move but you have no real control. You're walking through trees, a path you don't recognize, but that feels so familiar. It's not long before you reach the treeline which gives way to a cliff face. 

You can see someone sitting on the edge of the ledge, fiddling with something, and you know who it is, his name is on the top of your tongue. 

You call out, and he turns to you. You feel your soul ache.

* * *

You wake slowly, head feeling foggy and full of cotton. You think you're supposed to remember something, something important, but your mind is blank. 

Maybe you could just go back to sleep. Yeah that sounds like a nice idea. Reaching down, you grab the blanket and pull it over your head and turning your body towards the back of the couch . . . only to get a pen thrown at the back of your head for your trouble.

You promptly sit up and glare at the direction of the projectiles origin. There is a man sitting there, well it looks like a man, you think. You feel like you should know who this is, but your brain is drawing a blank, you're not scared though, despite something telling you that they are more than worthy of the title of threat. So you keep looking, waiting for your memory to kick in. Something in the back of your mind telling you that this is fine.

* * *

At the sound of movement, Alastor looks up from the paperwork he had been going over and glances towards the couch. Millie appeared to be trying to go back to sleep, and he wasn't going to allow that. Picking up a pen, one of the cheap plastic ones Charlie had left in here last time they were discussing business, he chucks it at the back of her head. Not able to help the smirk as she quickly sits up and glares at him. It falters slightly at look of nonrecognition, but he says nothing.

"Do you know where you are?" He asks, breaking the silence.

She looks around the room. "An office?" It's more of a question than an answer.

"Do you know who you are?" Maybe that was a better place to start.

A word leaves her mouth, and he hears it, but it doesn't register. The next thing he knows, he's shaking his head and she is blinking, as if coming out of a trance. What was the last thing he asked? Right, if she knew where she was.

"You're in Hell, dear." 

"Right." She breathes, something clicking as a look of recognition returns to her eyes. "Right. We should probably have a chat."

"One thing first. Who am I?" He wanted that clarification, if nothing else.

"Alastor." She states, unamused. He hold up his hands in mock surrender.

They sit in silence, for a few minutes before Millie loses her patience with the silence.

"Ask." She'll tell him what he wants to know, but she doesn't know where to start.

"How are you here?" Because to Alastor that was probably one of the things that added up the least.

"I cheated." Millie answers, before explaining how she died, how she ended up in Heaven and worked on her self-appointed quest. How it felt like half her soul was missing, and read through practicality the entirety of the library of Heaven, hoping to find an answer. Elaborating on what she'd found, the pieces she'd put together on a puzzle she hadn't even realized she been working on.

"That's . . .” Alastor began only to cut himself off. He didn't know what to do with this information.

* * *

"Did you ever feed me human meat?" You can't help but ask, once your conversation has mellowed from strictly being an information dump and into more of a catch up session. It had been something that you had been wondering since you got clarification on his cannibalism. Al liked cooking, from what his mother had told you, he always had, so it had always been just as common to find one of you cooking a meal as the other. 

Alastor's head snaps back up and his mouth opens and shut, he's looking at you as if he can't comprehend the question. "Of course not. You hate venison."

You just stare at him. What the fuck does venison have to do with . . . Oh, oh fuck. 

"Venison. Venatio, third-declension feminine noun, meaning venery, otherwise known as the hunting and killing of wild animals as a form of entertainment." You recite, picturing the various lines of text in your mind's eye as you make connections. You slam your head back against the couch. "You are an utter bastard."

You hear chuckles coming from the desk. Nice to know someone is amused by your suffering, you think, rolling your eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so fucking with your own soul has side effects. specifically when you don't truly know what you're doing, but especially when you have something purposely blocking out certain memories. Oh, wait didn't she put an array on that would make sure she retained memories? hmm . . . anyone else think that the one might start canceling out the other?
> 
> Oh on another note hopefully Nifty shows up next chapter or so. She is a dear and how dare anyone say otherwise.
> 
> Oh, maybe please come chat with me on tumblr? Username is fortuna-14, and No is, as always, a valid answer.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You and Al chat some more, and eventually join the others. Angel is Angel and you deal with that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Right, so this bit was hard. I'm *waves hand in a so-so gesture* about it. I kept writing stuff that's not happening for a while. One of which I can't wait for. "'Brilliant! I've stolen the airways!' 'That's not how that works.'"
> 
> But also Millie's opinions are what they are for a reason, you aren't expected to agree with them and I don't but I know her past and her own natural inclinations, which is what is what forms these opinions, even if they are subconsciously done.
> 
> Also I changed the Summery for the fic slightly.

You look back over to Al. He was being unusually quiet, had been the entire time you'd been talking. It worried you. Had this been a mistake? It was too late to turn back if so. 

There was so much for you to second guess, and really, you were at his mercy, just as you were at Rosie's earlier. You had no fall back, no support, you were at ground zero, if things went belly up. That wasn't even touching on that apparently Al had become some kind of big shot in Hell. You still weren't sure how you felt about that. 

* * *

Al rested his head in this hands as he contemplated what he had been told. And he had been told quite a lot. His dear wife really was too trusting, when it came to those she cared about. But he wouldn't complain, it suited him after all. It wasn't as though he found it endearing, of course not. 

But back to the point. When laid out the way she had, he couldn't find fault with the information. He didn't have access to the source material, but if there was one thing he knew about his dear, it was that she wouldn't state as fact anything she hadn't checked over multiple times.

It was still a bit hard to believe. But he didn't doubt though, it explained far too much. And it was too improbable to be an elaborate hoax. 

* * *

"Be honest." Alastor started, after the silence had stretched on for a while. "How do you feel about my . . . Proclivities?"

"Which ones? The murder? The cannibalism? The lying?" You bit out blandly.

"How about all of them?" He looks calm, almost jovial, but you’re not stupid, you can see the worry in his posture.

"I felt betrayed, Al. Did I even know you at all? If it wasn't for this bond." You bring your fist up to rest just above the tugging sensation. "I probably would have stayed in Heaven and lived as I had been. Trying to find out why I even ended up there in the first place, rather than all this. I'm not a good person, Al."

"You are." It's not loud but it's firm and it's kind of a shock that he thinks so highly of you.

"No, I'm not." You repeat. "And do you want to know why? Because I don't care. I don't care about your inclinations. And I should. I don't care about what you've done. Well I do, but not in the way that anyone with a working moral compass should. I care that you felt that you had to hide a part of yourself from me. I understand why you did so but it still hurts. I should care more over the fact that you would do something almost any and all would consider immoral." You huff out a humorless laugh. "What most would consider against the natural order, even. But it's not, death is just as natural as anything else, even if it's caused in a premature way. Life is only temporary, after all, even if it is the longest thing you'll ever do." You look out the window, avoiding looking at Al. "I don't . . . I don't like what you've done, but you know how I am. I care more about me and mine then others. I'd burn the world down if it meant, keeping us and ours safe, I wouldn't like it but I'd do it. My mind and heart oft disagree, I'm afraid."

Al is silent and you feel broken. Your fingers twitch, the urge to grab your magic and paint runes into the air is there, has been since you started talking. The runes were your safety for over fifty years, coming as second nature. It was a reasonable response, a result of the vulnerability you were presenting, without them in place there was no safety net. But you had used too much during your panic attack earlier, and didn't know how much abuse your reserves could take at the moment.

"I've thought about what might have happened if mom hadn't died." You start again, unable to bear the silence. "If I hadn't cut ties. How much blood would be on my hands then? Gale would have expected me to take over, and uncle dearest is almost as bad as you at taking no for an answer." You glare at Al but there is little heat. "I thought that was what you were hiding from me. Gale always seemed to like you, and if I was going to cut ties . . ." You shrug. “It would keep things in the family in a way."

"I think you overestimate his opinion of me." 

"Did Gale know?" The thought strikes you as odd, you were essentially his own child, since he wasn't going to have any.

"I'm fairly certain he suspected something. Threatened me to keep my inclinations to myself, at the very least." That was too open ended for you to glean anything from. 

"I guess we'll never know. . . . Unless he's here." Please no. 

"He was but died in the extermination not long after falling, hubris was his downfall, of course." Al never had thought much of your uncle. 

"Of course." Because what else was there to say.

"You know." Al draws out the word, pulling your eyes back to him. "I'd give you an empire if you asked."

"But I never wanted an empire." You really didn't. Something you and your uncle never saw eye to eye on.

"Which is why I haven't." Because he actually respected your wishes. Usually.

"But you'd still gleefully watch the world burn. Would prefer it." You didn't doubt this for a second, he always seemed to thrive off chaos. 

"You must admit there'd be no finer entertainment." The curve of his lips as he said that let you know exactly what he was trying to do.

"I don't have to admit anything" You respond, but can't contain the smile that's forming. 

* * *

"Come here."

"Why?"

"Because I want some cash, popinjay."

He puffs out a laugh, but complies none the less.

* * *

"I want you to be happy and thrive." You tell him. It's something that you've said before, and you know he understands that underlying meaning of those words. The unspoken "I still love you."

* * *

The clock in the hall chimes the hour and you count along. You'd been in here longer than you thought, apparently.

"We should probably get back. Anything else we need to speak of at the moment?" The conversation had ebbed and flowed, going from important points to trivial and back again, but you think you'd covered most everything.

"Nothing comes to mind. Though Rosie is going to want to speak with her 'potential future protégé' about that arrangement." He hadn't forgotten, and neither had you.

"I feel like I don't really have a choice. I mean she seems nice enough. But then so do you." You couldn't help but jab.

"She's ruthless when it comes to things she wants." Alastor warns. "She isn't one to force the unwilling, though, especially given her own history."

You hum, accepting this, not bothering to push for information, her past was her own, and you weren't going to risk whatever trust existed by being nosy.

* * *

Rosie turned towards the stairs at the sound of voices atop it. Dear Charlotte had kindly offered her tea, upon realizing she wasn't going to be leaving for a while yet. She still needed to speak with Alastor and Mildred after all, and she was going to take Husker's earlier warning seriously. 

When the two entered her field of sight she had to blink a couple times. Alastor looked like Alastor, but Mildred, she looked absolutely adorable, almost like a porcelain doll. Hair slightly mussed, a large afghan blanket draped over her shoulders, leaning against Alastor's arm as he lead her. She wasn't exactly short but she looked so small next to him. 

* * *

An ear splitting whistle made its way through the room as Angel, caught sight of the pair. He was going to have a field day. The girls already wincing in apprehension. The smirk on his face meant nothing good. Angel enjoyed pushing Alastor's buttons, and there was a new player on the field.

"Hey there, toots." Angel called out.

"Can I help you?" Millie asked, removing her head from Al's arm so she could speak clearly.

"Oh, yeah. Tell me, you and smiles here have been a thing for a while, right?" 

"Smiles, huh?" She looks over towards Al with a raised eyebrow. Untwining their arms and crossing hers, she turned to look at the arachnid. "And you could say that."

"So what I want to know is, how's he in bed?" If only looks could kill, everyone could feel the increase in static. Angel would be paying for this later, everyone was sure of it. Alastor wouldn't kill him, that would only earn Charlie's ire, which, while a joy to witness, wasn't what he wanted.

"Hm? Oh he's great." She answers, pulling Alastor's attention back to her, and causing the static to drop at her response, as he tried to figure out where she was going. Only for her to continue by counting on her fingers with a smirk. "Doesn't snore, doesn't kick, doesn't steal the covers . . . Much. I mean sometimes the insomnia is a pain, but no one is perfect."

"No, I mean _in bed_." Angel tries again stressing the words. This woman could be a gold mine for annoying the Strawberry pimp, and Angel enjoyed annoying him.

"I know what you meant." She responds blandly, smirk dropping, face turning serious. "But, dear, you seem to be suffering from a few misconceptions. First of all, I don't know you. Second, my sex life, and therefore his, are none of your business. And third, you seem to be doing this to elicit a response from my dulcet darling, which do not appreciate or approve of. So you will _knock it off_. Or so help me. I will show you first hand why every suitor I had didn't last long." Her smirk is downright dark, as if relishing in the memories. Until she turns to Alastor, in which it softens. "Yourself being the exception, love."

Alastor was laughing, he knew perfectly well what she was capable of, specifically with just her wits, but also physically if she deemed it necessary. 

"Oh, can I watch?" If she was going to tear Angel to shreds, figuratively speaking, he wanted a front row seat.

"Oh, hey, hey. Let's not fight." Charlie interrupts, getting between Angel and Millie. She was fine with letting things play out but she didn't want to deal with threats of violence. Especially since Angel was really the only sinner they had trying, and she used the term loosely, for redemption.

"We weren't fighting, sweetheart. I was just getting a point across." She pulls the blanket back up over her shoulders, it having fallen down in her passion and gives Charlie a sweet smile. 

Charlie wasn't sure she could trust it. It seemed genuine, but Vaggie's doubts were still present in her head. There was also the threat, it sounded like a threat of violence, but that also meant an implication of spousal abuse, if that was the case and she really didn't think that it was. Alastor reacted harshly to unwanted physical contact with his person, she didn't think this would be any different. So was there another meaning behind the words? She couldn't be sure. She could be sure that Vaggie was going to be more suspicious though.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not entirely happy with the end and I may come back and change it later, but I just wanted to be done with this section, cause I'm at that transition point between plot points where you are just kinda fumbling cause you don't know what to do ya know?
> 
> But by the by, for the very short fluffy scene. Cash is slang for a kiss, and popinjay is an insult meaning "a vain person, especially one who dresses or behaves extravagantly" and I kinda feel like it started out as an insult but eventually turned into an endearment. In the sketch I have of their first meaning, it's what she calls him, so it's what I'm running with. 
> 
> Also the scene with Angel did not follow script. And I didn't manage to work in something Rosie was supposed to notice. Why do I bother with outlines?
> 
> Thoughts, opinions, concerns?


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A look into Vaggie's thoughts. Husker clears something up. A conversation is had bout your mentorship. You talk with Charlie and soon it is time to head home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Done, Finally! This was a pain and I had the next chapter done before I was even a quarter though this one. I just didn't know what to do. Erk. Anyway I think this is as good as this is going to get, so here you go. 
> 
> If it's not clear who's talking, let me know.
> 
> It's like 5 am, I am going back to bed.

Vaggie didn't trust Alastor, couldn't, he was too much of an unknown. Too unpredictable outside of his desire for chaos. 

That Millie, Mildred, whatever, was his wife. And she trusted her even less. At least Alastor was a known entity, an unpredictable one but one nonetheless. 

Husker had implied that her ire was worse than Alastor's. Not something Vaggie wanted to imagine, but something she had to acknowledge nonetheless. Of course Alastor would go for someone more dangerous and unpredictable than he was. Was that even a question. 

The woman seemed emotionally unstable, and that, especially along with everything else, put Vaggie on edge. Though she would admit that had the woman had just died, well, emotional upheaval was a reasonable response to that. 

But still Alastor had died in the '30s that was 90 years ago, if she had only just died that would make her 110, at least. Not impossible, but she shouldn't look so young, people tended to look the age their soul decided represented them best, and even still, why would she still care about the pompous talk show shitlord. 90 years is a long time. It made no sense. 

And now she was threatening Angel. That was Vaggie's job, thank you. 

* * *

"Rosie, dear, I do apologies for this turn of events. It was terribly rude to just abandon you, especially when we had been having such a nice conversation." Alastor says, meandering over to Rosie and offering her a hand.

"It's understandable. It was an interesting and unexpected turn of events, to say the least." That was one way if putting it.

"Charlie, I'd like to apologies also, for causing a scene in your hotel." You cut in, gaining the princess's attention back. "And I am sorry to intrude more, but do you mind terribly if we steal your dining room for a short while. I need to speak with Rosie and Al is going to insert himself into the conversation whether he is wanted or not."

Charlie laughs slightly at your put upon tone as you finish. "He does that, doesn't he? But yeah, sure. And don't worry too much about it, nothing was damaged, which is a win in my book." 

* * *

"You're not taking this seriously." Vaggie announces, once Alastor, Mildred and Rosie are out of sight and they hear the dining room door click shut.

"What do you mean?" Charlie thought she was responding in a perfectly reasonable manner. 

"That girl just threatened Angel, and you’re being nice."

"You regularly threaten me." Angel points out.

"Yes, but I do it for your own good. I don't know what she'd do, but considering Alastor, of all people, wanted to watch, I doubt it'd be anything you'd want to happen. I mean Husker did say that she was worse than Alastor. Who knows if you'd get out of it completely intact?"

"Wait." Husker cuts in. "I think there is a bit of a misunderstanding going on here. I never said she was worse. I said, that Alastor would kill you if you spread this around, and that I didn't want to think about what Mil would do. And it likely wouldn't even be a physical response. But you think she just, what? Physically threatened this idiot? Is that what you think?" Husker seems terribly amused, but also slightly disturb by the notion.

"Yes." Vaggie bites out, not understanding what's so funny.

Angel just shrugs, not really caring, threats weren't something new.

"Maybe." Charlie draws out. "I kinda don't think so though, or I think I'm missing something. 'Cause if that's what she meant, it brings up some questions I don't want to think about."

Vaggie and Angel just kind of look at her, not quite sure what she means. 

"Right." Husker sighs, rubbing his temple and looking all the world like he doesn't want to do this. "It's not that Mil is more dangerous than Al, it's that they have different ideas on how to deal with what they consider an issue. You know how Al gets, he has his reputation for a reason. Mil though, while she knows how to physically put someone in their place, trust me on that, she prefers to, and I quote, 'get on her soap box and push you off your damn high horse'."

"Yeah, okay." Angel cuts in. "But what's that even supposed to mean?"

"She'll call you out on your bullshit and make you feel like you're an inch tall, that you're the one at fault for whatever reason. Which is honestly worse than Alastor in my opinion because at least with him you can stay mad at the bastard." Husker explains before grumbling. "She makes you feel like child who disappointed their mom."

"Let me get this straight." Vaggie starts.

"How can you get it straight if you’re not?" Angel cuts in.

"Like your one to talk." Vaggie answered back. "Anyway you're saying she'll what? Lecture him into submission?" Disbelief obvious at the notion.

Husk groans into his hands. "It sounds ridiculous when you put it like that."

"Okay, I'm . . . Really nosy question and I know I normally don't care, but Husk? What exactly is your relationship, you seem to know a lot?"

"You're right. That is nosy. And . . . It's complicated." He refuses to say more on the topic.

* * *

"I really don't want to have this conversation." You mention once seated, place your head on your crossed arms which rest on the table.

Alastor is chuckling, and it makes you want to throw a pen at _him_ , see how he likes it.

"Don't mumble, dear." Rosie reprimands lightly, as she had earlier. "And do, please sit up."

With a sigh you do as requested. "Let's start with this, do you still want to continue with your offer?"

"Oh yes. Of course, taking this new information into account, I suppose certain allowances and conditions will need to be made."

"True." Alastor agrees. "The easiest way to do this would be to split mentorship, but that wouldn't work."

"Of course not, for starters you don't have the patience. And second, if you are going to go through with a courtship, then there would be a conflict of interest."

"Courtship?" You cut in. Why would you need to do a courtship?

"You do realize though that most residence of Hell would not acknowledge your marriage as legitimate, yes? While it would have been legally binding as humans, in Hell very little of that is considered to still be valid." Rosie explains.

"I see." You draw out. You could understand that, you supposed. 

"Marriage is still a thing, of course. It is just uncommon. To take a spouse someone of higher authority needs to officiate, this usually means an Overlord, or, such as in the case of an Overlord, the Kind or Queen."

"In case you haven't noticed, Charlie is a dreamer. She comes by it honestly, as her father is something of a hopeless romantic." Alastor cuts in, looking bored with the conversation, despite his smile.

"Yes, which is why he has a set of conditions that must be met before he even considers officiating. The last time someone tried would have been . . . It wasn't too long after I died, within the first decade, at least, I distinctly remember because it was all anyone talked about for the better part of a year."

"Must we talk about this?" His annoyance with the conversation becoming more apparent, as he cut in again. "Weren't we hear to talk about you taking on a protégé?"

"That is true, but I was agreeing that duel mentorship wouldn't be appropriate." Rosie reminded.

"I feel like I should ask. Is a mentorship really necessary? I would like to think I have a fairly good grasp on my abilities, even if my magic is being a bit . . . Chaotic, at the moment." And it was, you could feel the turmoil, like it wanted to be let loose. 

"How do you mean?"

"It's . . ." You should have kept your mouth shut.

"Well you see, my dear. My darling wife decided to do something terribly amused, she forsook the rules of Heaven just to insure she ended up here." Alastor explained, without explaining much. Rosie raised an eyebrow, like she was trying to figure out how to respond to such a claim.

"I don't want to waste anyone's time needlessly." You reiterate.

"Darling, while I am sure you know your abilities, I'm also sure that you don't have experience using them in an offensive or defensive manner." He wasn't wrong. You'd never had the need. "Which is something you will find out quickly, is a necessity down here."

"Let me make sure I understand this." Rosie says, taking a breath and bring herself back to the conversation. "Some way or another, you are in Hell after spending time in Heaven."

"Yes." You admit sheepishly. You kind of wanted to keep that under wraps, thank you Al.

"I don't want to know." She announces, and that's actually a relief. "And you." She gestures towards Alastor. "You want me to help her learn to use her abilities, in a manner befitting of an Overlord."

"Now, my dear, you are putting words in my mouth."

"You seem to forget, I know you." Good for her, you wish you did. "And you aren't one for half measures, neither am I for that matter. If I do this, by the end I expect you to be able to go toe to toe with practically any Overlord placed in front of you. Including him."

She gestures at Alastor, as if to punctuate her statement. 

"Are you saying you want her to overthrow me? Rosie! And here I thought we were friends."

With a roll of her eyes she gives Alastor's smiling face a bland look. "That is entirely her prerogative. Though I wouldn't blame her, I have considered it on occasion."

"I suppose I can't deny having considered the same. It wouldn't be worth the ensuing boredom though."

"So we are going through with this mentorship, then?" You clarify. Watching their by play was interesting, but you did want to At least try to stay on topic.

"It would appear so, unless you have any objections?"

"Nothing particularly comes to mind."

"I suppose this means we should work out the details?"

* * *

"I'm not making a deal with you, so we will keep it to an informal arrangement. How does that sound?"

"My dear, while I do trust you with my life, I would be recant in my duties, if I did not at least -"

"Do you question my honor?"

* * *

It takes a while but you all finally work something out. It's more than an informal agree but less than a deal, which was possible due to Alastor technically being a third-party.

It's sort of devolved into Rosie and Alastor bickering at this point, now that your mentorship has been figured out. And you are glad that Al has managed to make a friend here, he's as open around the two of you as he had been in the past around you and Husker, and seeing that level of trust in another person, puts you at ease, in a sense. 

When Alastor stiffens and stops mid-sentence, both of you look at him and follow his gaze to the door. Not ten seconds later there is a knock.

"Hey." Charlie calls, poking her head in. "Didn't want to interrupt, but it's getting late. Did you want someone else to cover dinner, Al? Also, Miss Rosie, Millie, will you both be staying?"

"I'm afraid not, dear." Rosie tells her. "I really should be getting back. Thank you for the invitation, nonetheless."

"Is it that late already?" Alastor asks, turning to look at the clock that was situated outside of his field of vision. "I should probably get started on that, yes?"

"I'll be staying, if it's not any trouble?"

"No trouble at all, love." Alastor tells you, placing his hand on the top of your head. The weight is calming, it ebbs away at the anxiety in your chest.

"Of course not." Charlie agrees easily.

* * *

Charlie just smiled, she liked seeing Alastor like this, sort of soft and caring. It doesn't seem like something he'd let most people see and she is kind of humbled by the trust.

When Millie asked about staying she looked all sort of nervous, but all it took was a few words and brief contact from Al, and the worry rolled off her like water. It was cute.

Charlie glanced over to where Millie currently was, lying across several bar stools, head dangling off the last one, and talking Idly with Husker.

Despite what Husker had told them all. Angel was holding his distance for the time being, and Vaggie still wasn't happy.

This lead Charlie to trying to keep the peace . . . Again. 

"Whatcha doing?" The princess asks coming up to the bar.

"Hanging upside down. It's relaxing. You should try it." Millie tells her, moving her feet from the last stool to give Charlie a place to sit.

"What's it look like?" Was Husker's remark. 

"So, I was wondering, you mentioned earlier something about redemption and intention?” The Princess inquires, she hadn't been paying much attention, to her shame, but what she remembers sounded interesting.

"Hmm? Oh, yeah. One of the big things that decides where a soul ends up is the intention behind the action. For example, let's say you we're cohered into doing something awful, or you kill someone who was going to kill you if you didn't stop them in some manner, there is still a good chance that you wouldn't end up in Hell on that instance alone. I've read a few books on the redemption and damnation processes. Not the most interesting reads, but certainly informational. Give me a few days and I'll get you the ones on redemption."

"Wait really?"

"Yeah, why not?

Well most people don't exactly believe in what I'm doing. Alastor says he's only here 'cause he's bored and finds other people's failure amusing."

"Honey, Al may be a jerk but I'll let you in on a secret, he doesn't tend to get involved in anything if he doesn't believe in it in some manner. So while he may be here for those reasons, also, I am willing to bet that he does think this is possible if not particularly probable."

* * *

"Al, you didn't!" Charlie squealed when she entered the dining room again. Before going and attempting to hug man, which he expertly dodged.

"I'm afraid so, my dear. I do hope everyone is in the mood for jambalaya." He addresses everyone but is looking at you.

"Mama's jambalaya?" You question, his mother had been fairly insistent you call her that, and at this point it was habit.

"Indeed." He's smirking at you, you can't help but be amused.

"Mama makes the best jambalaya and anyone who says otherwise is a liar with no sense of taste." This gets you laughs from Al, Charlie and Husker. Vaggie still doesn't seem amused and Angel looks like he's not sure what to think of you, but is smiling nonetheless. 

* * *

"Would you like to head home, my dear?" He's leaning on the back of the couch behind you, it's gotten late.

"I . . . Yeah, I would."

* * *

"You're a sentimental twat." You inform him, taking in the sight of the house. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I kept delaying the mentorship talk. I really didn't want to do it cause I'm still not sure where I want to go with it. Cause it was not originally in the plan. 
> 
> The marriage conversation was not planned, though it certainly got the ball rolling cause I world build like crazy if prompted.
> 
> Charlie and Mil's conversation didn't exactly go to script but I've been trying to work it in since the two first met, so I'll take it. Might need to revamp it though, idk.
> 
> Random fact: I have a file called "scenes from a hat" that has little scenes to use as prompts.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not a chapter. I'm sorry. Thank you for your time and support.

Hello. I'm sorry. I will be taking this down once I find the energy and figure out how. I like this fic but I don't like where what I have on my computer is going. It's going darker than I am comfortable with and it's stressing me out to the point anything Hazbin Hotel is stressing me out. Most of my fics are soft and fluffy to an extent and that's to keep the darkness at Bay. I thought I could work with it but I overestimated my own ability. 

Thank you all for you time, you have been a joy.

I may repost in the future, but right now I need to remove the stressors of my anxiety.

Thank you and goodnight.

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, um . . . Would anyone be willing to maybe help me figure out how to tag this? I feel like it needs to be done and I would really and the help.


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